The overhead lights in the hallway started flickering again a couple of weeks ago. This hasn’t happened in a while, not a long while. When Rick first died, the ceiling lights in the kitchen started to flicker one night. I was washing dishes and could see them flickering out of the corner of my eye, but, oddly, when I looked in the reflection in the window above my sink, I couldn’t see it. I glanced to the side again, and yeah they were flickering. I looked in the window, no they weren’t. And somehow, after reading stories written by many widows who talked about signs from their husbands, I came to believe that it was Rick. That whatever electrical current of life had run through him, was now trying to signal to me from beyond.
And at first, I was filled with happiness thinking (deluding myself?) that he was near. Then, I wanted more. I wanted badly for him to give me more of a sign, to somehow try to tell me what he wanted to say. But eventually, I gave up on that idea. I knew I’d never get any special message. I knew I was lucky simply to feel that he was nearby, that I could feel his presence in the room. So, whenever the lights in my house flickered, I just grew comfortable with it, and enjoyed the sensation that he loved me and watched over me. And I began a little routine. Anytime the lights started to flicker, I’d just say, “Hi honey. I missed you.” And I’d think about him and I’d picture the little light flickers as his way of saying, “hi” back.
After about a year or so, it didn’t seem to happen as much anymore. In fact, I almost forgot about it until a couple weeks ago, when those hallway lights started to flicker. And after the surprise of it, I said, “Hi honey, I’m so glad you came back.” And felt that warm glow that the man I loved may be here with me, just for a bit.
Should I go to a psych ward right now? Or should I just claim the stresses of the day as the cause? Whatever the reason – delusion or mystery of the universe – I like hearing from him.